


Other People, Other Times

by Livia_LeRynn



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Everything is consensual, F/M, Furiosa POV, Kink Meme, Oral Sex, Slice of SEX Life, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, character study via sex, mad max kink meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livia_LeRynn/pseuds/Livia_LeRynn
Summary: Forthis mad max kink meme prompt.Sometimes sex is about making anger instead of love; sometimes Furiosa lives up to her name.  Then she knows orgasms are for other people and other times.





	

Sometimes sex isn't making love. Sometimes it's making anger - not at him necessarily although there might be some of that from time to time. More often it’s anger at herself, at the world and everything wrong with it, anger about crops that fail and half-life pups that wriggle their way under her skin despite her best efforts and leave behind abscesses. Sometimes Furiosa lives up to her name.

Those times she spits and snarls with her eyes dark and feral. She roars and huffs. Max moans beneath the red lines she leaves on his skin because for some inexplicable reason, he thinks she's beautiful when she's sharp. She's never really considered such a possibility. 

Furiosa prefers her pains blunt and deep. She demands to be struck, orders Max to drive his fists into her flesh and to rub his knuckles against her sternum so the vibrations move through her. She always wants his strikes to be harder, his thrusts to be deeper. She wants him to carve away her insides, to make her hollow. She wants pain to sing in her bones because it’s so wrong that she but not her body should hurt.

And Max obliges because she asks, because she wants it, because he knows how she needs to allow herself this time to lose herself. Only after she's had a moment to collapse inward and then explode out again like a super nova is she ever truly able to keep moving. That's how she is: she pounds her fist and gnashes her teeth and throws herself to the merciless ground, but then she gets up.

But the problem is Max wants her to get up sooner rather than later, too soon she ventures. He doesn’t realise that’s what he’s wanting when he wants her to lose herself in pleasure after she’s lost herself in suffering. He licks and flicks and stirs her earnestly. Then he holds her, one arm about her chest and the other grazing the crest of her pelvis. He’s good to her, too good. 

And she is enjoying herself. She likes how solid he feels when she clenches her thighs. His touch becomes frantic, and she arcs her back and tosses her head. The muscles at the bottom of her belly tense against his palm. She adjusts her hips so the thrusts reach deeper; she still wants to be hollow. She still wants to taste blood.

He wants her to cum – that much is obvious as is the fact that his reasons aren't entirely selfless. She knows he likes that combination of clenching and crumbling when she tumbles down her peak like she is a pile of stones racing down a mountain. He likes the marks that she leaves when she loves with her claws and teeth. He will hold them in the days after like secret treasures.

But every time she sees that peak within her reach, she slides down again. She grits her teeth and stubbornly bears down in foolish hope that the waves from her muscles clenching and spasming will carry her over the peak and down. It works at first, but then she latches to the edge and dangles there until the waves end, and she pulls herself back onto the ledge while refusing to look down. She shudders for all the wrong reasons; she feels terribly unworthy of the view. 

“You cum?” he asks, his mouth soft against her jugular. Then he nips, his teeth still as sharp and feral as the day he rolled in from the wastes.

She inhales sharply, loudly, familiarly, and Max smiles against her neck. She’s never been one for faking, but it occurs to her that with all the noises escaping her, making him believe would be easy. Then he would empty himself into her, and they would move on. But faking tastes something like defeat. 

“Nuh-uh,” she huffs then immediately regrets showing her exasperation. He’ll think he's the problem, but he’s not; she is.

He tweaks her in enthusiastic circles. She lets them guide her back to the peak and then clenches herself jaws to toes. But orgasms are for other people, other times. She wishes she had the words to let him know, and she's certain he would understand, but that doesn’t make her any more capable of coaxing an explanation from her mind or her mouth. 

But if he said such a thing… not that she could imagine he would, but if he did… She can feels him fighting back his own climax. He’s measuring his breaths, calming his thrusts. He’s waiting for her, and she takes another sort of pleasure in that irony.

“Don’t worry about it,” Furiosa says after another close call but eventual failure. She’s too edgy, too twitchy with regret for all the herself and the world and everything wrong with it, for crops that fail and half-life pups that wriggle her way under her skin despite her best efforts and leave behind abscesses. There’s a wrongness to giving herself over to abandon when so much is wrong. But oblivion, oblivion does sound nice. 

Max pauses to flex his fingers. “Too sore?”

Furiosa thumps him in the bicep. She’s rather enjoying letting herself be rubbed raw, but a challenge given is a challenge accepted. She tips her pelvis until he bottoms out, and as she arcs her back and takes his earlobe between her teeth she snarls, “Fang it.”


End file.
